Irrepressible Miseries
by LucidReveries
Summary: Katrina Mortis is the only of her kind. No one thought such a being were possible—the gifted offspring of a Mord-Sith and a Confessor/Sorcerer. Yet she still breathes. For now… Darken Rahl is the tyrannical ruler of D'Hara. Under his reign, D'Hara and the Midlands territories have fallen into darkness. But his régime isn't over yet. No, it's far, far from it. His new man
1. Prologue

_ "__Don't cry darling." Luther rubbed comforting circles on his daughter's back in an effort to end her tears. "It was an accident."_

_ "__I didn't mean to do it!" she wailed._

_ "__I know."_

_The little girl, near the age of eight or so, looked at her father. A reassuring smile graced his face, calming her. Her gaze drifted to her playmate, to his glossed over expression. At the sight, her tranquility vanished._

_ "__Please, make it stop." She sobbed as she buried her face into her father's chemise. "I don't wish him to be my slave. Papa, make it go away!"_

_ "__I can't," his tone was miserable._

_ "__Why not?"_

_ "__Because it's you who confessed him, my child. Only you can make that happen."_

_ "__But that means dying. Is there no other way?"_

_ "__No, there isn't."_

_At this, the girl wept harder. Luther ran his fingers through her dark tresses. It was breaking his heart to see the distress the situation caused his little Katrina. She was delicate in her own right and he understood what it was like to hate harboring the power of Confession. It was a dangerous affair._

_ "__Everyone I touch hurts." Her words stabbed at his heart. "I can barely touch my own family."_

_Luther was silent for he did not know how to respond._

_ "__Why couldn't I be like Peyton, papa?" she asked earnestly. "Why couldn't your magic pass me over as it did her? Why couldn't I just be one sort? Why must I suffer this burden?"_

_ "__A person born gifted is dealt what they can handle, do you understand?" He pulled her away a little so she could get the full effect of what he was telling her. "You are powerful, yes. However, the magic you have isn't stronger than your will. It is as I've taught you. You can bridle it masterfully. It is in your nature."_

_Katrina sniffled as she stared back at her father._

_ "__You control it, Katrina." He whispered. "Not the other way around."_

Katrina's eyes snapped open as she registered the painful need to respire in her lungs. The water in her bath roiled and splashed as she abruptly sat up. She gasped loudly, taking bountiful gulps of air she deprived her body. The liquid around her sloshed softly as it slowly settled. She remained in the tub, her expression distant as she gathered her wits.

Remembrances like this, of her father soothing her, depressed her. Some months passed since she last saw him or had the luxuries of their palace but she made her choice. She was a grown woman now. She and she alone had the right to control her destiny. Not any man—even if he was her father.

But then, her decision resulted in consequences that put her family and realm at risk. D'Harans relentlessly stalked her and her sister since the discovery of their escape and she heard through the word of gossip that Lord Rahl was hunting Confessors to near extinction. No Confessor, especially a male, would escape. Of course, Katrina grasped as the offspring of Luther she and her sister were condemned to the same fate.

_No,_ she reminded herself. Peyton hadn't inherited their father's magic of any kind. She was a Mord-Sith to the core—callous, killing without compassion or hesitation. She was their mother's daughter. They'd been born ten months apart and neither Katrina nor Peyton resembled the other.

Peyton had the typical Mord-Sith physique—slim and muscular with lengthy hair that no blade ever touched and glacier blue eyes. In essence, she was a doppelgänger of their mother. Katrina, in comparison, was fit yet voluptuous with thick onyx locks and sapphire eyes. Taking advantage of their dissimilarity, if it came down to it, they'd deny their kinship.

Katrina didn't second-guess this choice at all. She would do any and everything within her power to protect her younger sister no matter the price. If she had to reject the same blood ran through their veins to spare Peyton, then so be it. If Katrina died, she wouldn't subject her sister to the same fate. Besides, their father's third heir—Nicklaus—in all probability would take the throne should anything happen to their father or Katrina.

Katrina rose out of her bath, her feet coming up against cold stone. She wrapped herself in a thick robe as she wrung droplets of water from her hair. It was getting longer than she desired but she couldn't cut it. It was the effect of her Confessor parentage, as it would cause her extreme pain to do the deed herself. Perhaps in the morning she'd ask Peyton to cut it for her.

Thinking of her younger sibling, her gaze came to rest on the slumbering form on one half of their bed. She was clad in brown leather, the casual attire of the Mord-Sith, with her flaxen hair drawn back in a single long braid. Katrina knew undoubtedly her red leather was stowed away somewhere nearby. No Mord-Sith traveled without it and Peyton was no different. The room they purchased for the night in the inn actually had two beds but Peyton wouldn't leave her sister's side.

A smile played on Katrina's lips as she thought about the past few days.

The D'Harans had grown closer but they managed to break away from their holds. The sisters had had to fight a few to the death but they'd done it. Afterward, Peyton kept watch over Katrina as she slept for days on end without retiring herself. It was ironic really. Katrina felt as though she should have been the one keeping guard or at least taking a couple turns of it.

Peyton argued, though she understood her sister's sense of duty, her combat skills weren't as unwavering as hers were. Their mother had trained both women. Admittedly, the training wasn't traditional in the sense of how Mord-Sith were usually taught but nonetheless it happened. Peyton was able to better adapt the scruples of the Mord-Sith than Katrina was. Her hindrance came from her character as a Confessor, the character to be sympathetic.

Another impediment was Katrina needed to be close to her targets to do damage. Confession was even more dangerous as it required her to tune out everything and solely focus on her victim. Thankfully, she didn't require a recovery period. It was something she was unsure whether was attributable to her magic originating from her father, her own strength, or a combination.

She didn't slip into her nightwear. Instead, she slipped into her dress. It was simple yet elegant with a plunging neckline. The pure white fabric blended in with her gloves and hugged her hips before opening into a slit that ran down to the floor. Whenever she took a step the black, tightfitting pants and boots she wore beneath flashed.

She adjusted her daggers before settling beside her sister and pulling the coverlet over them. Sleep didn't immediately claim her. She remained in a half state where her thoughts were allowed to run wild before that occurred. _It's a terrible thing,_ her mind whispered, _to be born into a world that hunts you for the very thing that you are_. A tear slid her cheek at the thought of her parents.

She didn't know what became of them or their kingdom. The guilt she felt for putting all of them in such a compromising position ate away at her as well. It was selfish of her to have run away. But she couldn't turn back the clock now. Her will was already being carried out. She shut her eyes, soothed by her sister's easy and even breathing beside her, as a frightening but true notion flickered in her head.

_Tomorrow isn't promised for us either…_


	2. Chapter 1: Where, Oh Where, to Flee?

"Katrina," the urgency behind that one whispered word was enough to stir her into consciousness.

Swiftly, Katrina sat up. With alarm, she saw Peyton had changed into her battle suit. Her aigels were clutched tightly in her hands. Their eyes met and a silent message transmitted between the two.

"How long do we have?" she hurled the question at her little sister as she slid her boots on.

"I'm not certain." Peyton's tone was professional. "It doesn't matter. We must leave immediately."

Katrina nodded as she slung her pack over her shoulder. They descended the steps from their temporary housing to the ground floor quickly. Audible gasps sounded from around them. Katrina was certain it was because the patrons were seeing a Mord-Sith in the flesh. They were renowned among the three lands of the New World but she got the sense that they were a rare commodity in this territory.

Peyton kept her spine erect and remained attentive. Together, the sisters walked out of the inn. They did not have time to acknowledge the innkeeper or his wife. As they veered off into the woodlands, there was distant shouting.

_Run. _

That was the singular thought Katrina entertained as she clutched onto her younger sister's hand and navigated them through the dense foliage. It was nightfall and they'd been fleeing from their hunters for hours. It was remarkable they made it this far considering their adversaries were on horseback while they traveled by foot. There were no further sounds of pursuit in the stillness engulfing them but Katrina made no effort to slow their pace.

The sound of her own blood rushing in her ears, her harsh panting, and instinct drowned out all else. Sweat saturated her forehead, causing her hair to stick to it. Her throat ached for air. More air. She had to get more into her lungs.

Katrina and Peyton had endurances to reckon with but this was proving to be draining. They kept trudging forward, winded. The high, damp grass brushed against their clad legs up to their knees. Puddles splashed around booted feet.

Lifting her skirts with her free hand and tugging Peyton along with her other, she led them down the side of a small dip in the ground where they concealed themselves. Their chests heaved as they struggled for breath. Despite her body's fatigue, Katrina was mentally alert. She inspected her sister for any injuries. Satisfied when she found none, she began to survey their surroundings.

A rustling sound came from somewhere proximate. Peyton was about to say something but Katrina moved quickly to place a gloved hand over her sister's mouth. Her blue orbs began to scan the area around them again methodically. There was more rustling but she couldn't determine from which direction it was coming from. Her hands flew to her boots, toward her weapons, the exact moment in which D'Harans began surrounding.

They'd located them.

There was no point in staying in their spot any longer. Raising from their crouched positions the sisters assessed the men encircling them. There were twenty of them. Seven were still on horseback; the other thirteen were on foot or dismounting their steeds. They unsheathed their swords.

"By the command of the Lord Rahl you are to come with us Princess Katrina." stated the soldier in the lead.

Katrina glanced at her sister with a wry expression.

"When have we ever been known to make thing easy?" she asked smirking.

"Never," Katrina replied with a grin of her own.

She charged forward, slashing with her daggers. Peyton followed suit, employing her aigels dexterously. As the clash commenced she realized it was either die or escape. There would be no middle ground of surviving as captive. Even if they weren't victorious, they'd fight until their last breath.

The Mord-Sith Mercy was growing rather bored as she waited a ways off from the battle. She had a perfect view from where she stood. It was brief and ruthless. Never had she seen such worthy opponents like the two who'd just combated with Lord Rahl's men so rancorously. Actually, she would've loved to have her try at them.

To her surprise, the placid looking Confessor was skilled in martial prowess. She was an exceptional dagger-fighter and single handedly debilitated multiple of her opponents. Her movements were lethal and beautiful all the same. However, she wasn't who held Mercy's attention. It was the younger woman accompanying her.

The infamous skintight, neck-to-toe red leather and long braided hair screamed Mord-Sith. Her talents as a fighter were unmistakable. She struck faster than any viper and took care that her opponents were dead by implementing only useful and necessary attacks. If one still breathed, she was quick to fix that.

It wasn't commonplace to find a Mord-Sith who could expertly manipulate two aigels at once. One was agony enough. But two? That was impressive beyond doubt. Nonetheless that didn't change what she was by definition—a betrayer to the House of Rahl.

For all their adroitness, the pair may have won had they not been worn.

However, that was the thing with probabilities. They were calculations of the likeliness of things that might have come to past. Not what truly was. As it were, the two women had been subdued. Mercy watched as one of the women was carried and the other dragged to her spot.

Bearing in mind what she'd just witness she had to wonder why the one in white wasn't still resisting. Her head lulled to the side and that's when Mercy saw it. The darkening contusion at her temple. One of the soldiers almost certainly rendered her unconscious with a blow using the butt of his sword. The other one, the fair-haired one, still had some fight left in her.

At Mercy's signal, the men set them down. There was something mesmerizing about gazing upon the limp form of the woman. Her thick dark hair spread across the grass, her pale neck craned to one side. She looked as elegant as a statuette. If she had to calculate her age, Mercy would put it at her twenties. Mid-twenties at the most.

The blonde rushed to the other's side. She pulled the unresponsive woman into her lap and stared down at her face. The younger woman's mien remained as cold as steel. Only her eyes betrayed her. Mercy lifted a dark brow when she withdrew an aigel and held it up defensively.

"You protect a Confessor—our natural enemy— and are disloyal to our master by doing so yet you think you're deserving of life?"

"I think the only reason _you_ still breathe is because you cower behind Rahl's soldiers." The other Mord-Sith answered defiantly.

"You're disgusting." Mercy snarled. "A traitor."

Her stare fell on the turncoat's free hand as she tried to rouse the Confessor. Another signal from Mercy and the blonde was pinned. It took two soldiers to restrain her. One of them took her wrist and twisted it to keep her from using her aigel. Mercy kicked it from her hand.

"Why do you protect her?" she asked, pressing her own aigel against the woman's neck.

She didn't as much as wince.

"You can't break me." an unsettling smile curved her lips. "Better than you have done it."

"I doubt that."

"Then you're an imbecile."

Mercy pressed the aigel harder to the girl's neck. Nothing happened. She would've kept it there longer but that meant breaking bones. Lord Rahl wanted the Confessor alive and to kill this vermin in front of her would most likely result in the Confessor killing herself or something of the sort. Mercy moved down to her clavicle, pressing down hard and twisting.

She almost thought the girl was immune to her inflictions. Only a small but sharp intake of air gave her away. Her parted lips sealed then formed a sadistic grin. Mercy's brows furrowed in her puzzlement.

"What are you smiling about?"

"Your men should be more vigilant."

The other Mord-Sith's meaning was lost on her but when the men's eyes who were restraining her turned black Mercy understood what'd happened. The Confessor regained cognizance. Their grip on the blonde loosened and she delivered a skull cracking head-butt to the Mord-Sith before her.

Mercy fell on one knee, blood trickling down from her fresh gash. Recovering her senses she raised, aigel in hand. It whined menacingly.

"You won't get the luxury of surprising me again," she hissed.

"Kill her and all those who stand with her." Katrina commanded her new slaves.

"Yes, Confessor." They replied in unison.

They stood defensively in front of the sisters and drew their swords. Their weapons were directed at the Mord-Sith. Soon the remaining soldiers joined their mistress in battle. Nevertheless, the men kept their weapons pointed at them. It wasn't lost on her that the fight was four to seven.

In her mind, the D'Harans didn't matter. The real threat was the Mord-Sith. Katrina's vision tunneled to the point that she just barely detected the new forces uniting with their opposition. There were at least thirty of them now.

"Do you really think Master Rahl would send so little for an adversary so formidable?"

"We didn't expect anything less." Peyton shot back.

Katrina removed her other glove so that both of her hands were bare. The long, slim fingers of one hand curled around her weapon. The heaviness of fatigue was weighing on her but she didn't let it show. She knew what would happen if they were captured here. The only reason Lord Rahl wanted them alive rather than dead was so he could make Katrina one of his trophies and she wasn't having any of that.

The men attacked then.

It was a messy sort of scuffle with all of the D'Harans and the Mord-Sith trying at only four people. But they held their own for a while. One of the confessed men was killed, but not before he slaughtered five others.

During the first blows of mêlée, Katrina concentrated on her defense. She let her muscles settle into the motion of combat. When one of the men's weapons slipped past her defenses and toward her throat, she saw red. A state of pure carnage took hold of her. She dodged the blow and seized the man by his neck.

He died on the spot.

More D'Harans lunged at her. All fell victim to her touch. She was in a state so raw that weapons were not necessary. Her body was her weapon and she wielded it agilely. Yet she remained in control.

She supplied devastating hit after hit. D'Harans fell at her feet, some staining the purity of her dress with their gore. The sounds of struggle lessened since and Katrina took in the rest of her surroundings. The head of their foes, the Mord-Sith, was retreating. Before long, she blended into the darkness of nighttime.

Peyton thrusted one of her aigels over the last D'Haran's heart and twisted it. He didn't get the chance to let out any sounds of pain for he was dead instantaneously. She stepped over his corpse, blood sliding down and off her leathers.

"We need to keep moving." Katrina said to her. "She'll only go back to gather her forces tenfold."

Peyton nodded as she handed her sister her pack and stashed her aigels. She whipped her head around them for a few seconds, seeming to be in search of something. A loud neigh drew Katrina's attention as well. There were still horses from the D'Harans scattered about. She approached one and it let her take its reins.

"I do believe these would be faster?" Peyton nodded toward the stallions and Katrina concurred.

"We can't keep doing this." Katrina spoke in hushed tones minutes into their journey on horseback.

"And where do you propose we go that Darken Rahl's hunters won't follow?"

"The Westlands."

"The boundary…"

"We could find a way Peyton." Katrina whispered thoughtfully. "Wizards possibly."

"What wizard is strong enough to take down such a boundary other than one of the First Order?"

"Then we find a wizard of the First Order."

"There are only three. One is dead, the other is missing, and Darken Rahl employs one. Tell me again how we're going to get through?"

"We could find the missing wizard or one of equal strength."

"In the Midlands, Katrina?" Peyton stopped her horse in its tracks. Katrina halted hers as well and looked curiously at her sister. "Are you listening to yourself? Darken Rahl has outlawed magic in his terrains. He smites down anyone he finds using it. Any wizard of that stature would do well to hide himself from Darken Rahl's sight."

"There are many territories…"

"This," Peyton gestured vaguely, "is suicide to begin with and you want to make it more complex?"

"Have faith."

"Have reason."

"I am thinking rationally sister. Our only chance of survival is Westlands—away from magic."

"Your powers of Confession and Torment won't cease once we cross that border sister if that's what this is about. Don't delude yourself."

"If we can cross the boundary, if we can reach a land so deeply embedded in Westland, we would be safe."

"That would never be."

"Why do you say that?"

"I know you and once we're safe you'd try to contact father and mother." Katrina stared evenly at Peyton. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"Don't you care what happens to them? What about Nicklaus? Is your heart truly that cold?"

"I assure you if it were you'd be wandering alone and I'd be by mother's side like she asked."

They remained mute for a moment. Only the gentle sounds of night and the deep breathing of their horses disrupted that stillness. Peyton's words hung heavy in the air. They were sincere but that only made them all the more cutting. Their mother had ordered Peyton to join her on whatever venture she'd gone on but Peyton refused.

She and Katrina had never been apart and they wouldn't separate now.

"Let's just keep going." Katrina instructed, not wanting to argue further.


	3. Chapter 2: Oracle's Wisdom

"Master Rahl," Mercy saluted with her fist over her heart.

"Mercy," he replied, dragging out the 'r' in her name.

He didn't look up to face her. Instead, he dipped his quill in the blood-filled inkwell and continued to write in his journeybook. There was no doubt whoever's blood filled it had failed him. Mercy swallowed imperceptibly as she considered her own failure. She saw where the battle was heading and she saved herself. She abandoned her own men to suffer their fate.

His profound, velvety baritone cut through her thoughts.

"It's been three days, how did the mission go?"

By the end of his inquiry, Mercy's eyes were cast downward. "Unsuccessful; the Confessor escaped."

"Which one would that be again?" Darken Rahl asked. There was a hint of acrimony in his tone. "I forget with so many still frolicking about."

"Those in Anatheema remain unharmed as they are under the protection of their king Luther Mortis." Mercy answered. "His daughter escaped."

"Daughter," he repeated as he absentmindedly ran his finger across his bottom lip. "How did she manage that? Better yet how did you_ let_ her escape?"

Internally, Mercy cringed. It was as she feared. Master Rahl thought she was a failure. She knew her blood was less likely to fill the inkstand sitting on his writing table but the implication still hurt deeply. She lived solely to serve her master, to gratify him and now, he wasn't pleased with her or her actions.

Setting her jaw and standing more erect to hide her injured feelings, she supplied an answer. "She wasn't alone. A Mord-Sith fought alongside her and she confessed many of the soldiers."

"Peculiar," it was the only comment Lord Rahl made on the subject.

She wished he would say something else, anything just as long as he spoke. But he didn't. He simply flipped to another page in his journeybook and scrawled down a brief message. For an instant, she entertained the thought of him writing to Cara. He'd stated once, to Mercy's dismay, she was his most prized Mord-Sith.

Then that conversation wasn't meant for her to have overheard. At the time, she brushed it off as pillow talk. Master Rahl did have the tendency to blather after sensual pleasure to express his appreciation for some of their remarkable bedchamber… flairs. Mercy never assumed that applied beyond Lord Rahl's bed but this episode had her mistrusting her theory.

"Mercy," Master Rahl did look up this time and her heart skittered when his raptor-like gaze pinned hers. "This Confessor, you said she confessed many of my men?"

"Yes,"

"And she simply kept fighting without rest?"

"Yes,"

"Hmm…"

"Is something the matter my lord?"

He paused. For a minute, Mercy believed he would reveal his thoughts to her. When those lovely cerulean eyes his became even more indecipherable than his norm, she gave up on the silly idea.

"No," said Lord Rahl indifferently. "It was mere curiosity. You are dismissed."

"My lord," Mercy saluted.

She had no illusions of what would become of her later. The punishment she would receive because of her failure. But what ran through her mind as she left Lord Rahl's study was the Confessor. It was the first time he'd sent her personally to capture her and she'd thought the others before her were merely imbeciles. Now she knew better. Next time she'd be less gentle because, after all, Master Rahl only said the Confessor was to be brought in alive with as minimal damage possible.

"My liege," Leigh drawled as she entered Darken Rahl's study in the People's Palace.

Leigh was a magnificent beauty to behold. Her body was an exquisite splendor of curves and she was fearless in flaunting it. As it happened, she was wearing an audacious dress of sheer fabric that clung to her body, its train brushing against the marble flooring as she neared him. Darken recalled her telling him that it was a waste to veil oneself from the world and she had nothing to conceal. Well, perhaps her true age. That remained a mystery to him.

Darken considered taking her as a bedmate once. He'd been young and foolish, blind to her conniving ways then. She wanted a place beside him on his throne. He could never give that indulgence her. He sought a queen who was willful, quick-witted, and able to provide him a legitimate, gifted heir. There'd never been a weak Rahl born into the lineage and that had to do with the women who married into the family.

Love meant little to him. Therefore, he didn't pursue it. The concept was one of a dreamer's. His views on the subject of marriage were singular. He simply needed a woman to fulfill her duties as a wife and queen to the people. As for Leigh, her gift of foresight was the only thing he truly needed from her.

Speaking of which…

Leigh swept her burgundy curls behind her shoulder. They cascaded past her waist and Darken had to wonder how it was that she managed it. However, he was beginning to deviate. With a lazy wave of his hand, he dismissed the excess guards in the study.

It was a luxurious room, decorated with arrases portraying gory battles and olden heroes. Countless books lined the walls and there was a window seat where one could observe the courtyard below. The wooden desk that dominated the center of it practically screamed of riches and power. Darken Rahl pushed his chair back and raised, his blood red robes cascading down onto the floor.

"I won't waste either of our times." He stated. "I've summoned you here to ask you of your guidance."

"Guidance?"

"Yes," Darken knew the oracle had heard him perfectly well; she wasn't that old yet. She simply wanted to drag out the scarce occurrence of him asking advice from another. If he didn't need this counsel, he'd have slit her throat for her games. Instead, he reined in his indomitable temper as much as he could and kept a void expression. "It's about the male Confessor Luther Mortis."

"What of him?"

"To spare his life, his child's, and all who Confessors under his reign we made a deal. He hasn't held up his end of the bargain."

"Which would be?"

"The hand of his firstborn daughter in exchange for peace between our lands."

"You wish to take a Confessor as a wife?"

"I'm not getting any younger and she's quite competent. Let's not forget their descent is also of very old, very powerful magic. With the magics of the House of Rahl and the Dynasty of Mortis combined, such an heir born as a Rahl… well, it's simply too promising of a prospect to pass up."

"Ah," Leigh remarked. "I see but I'm afraid I'm uncertain of exactly what you want from me. Do you require my guidance or my sight milord?"

"Both."

"Very well," she said, taking a breath.

Her dark eyes leisurely rolled back leaving the whites exposed. Darken Rahl stood motionless, rigid with anticipation as he watched her eyelids flutter. Her lips separated as she drew in a breath. The amount of time that passed as she was in her trance was incalculable. He waited.

Finally, Leigh's eyes shut and opened again. The scleras around her pupils were bloodshot. It was common practice when she had visions so Darken Rahl didn't pay it any mind. What was of concern to him was what she'd seen.

"Well?" he prompted.

"A demonstration is far worthier than mere words."

"I don't believe that's in order." Darken told her. He detested the feeling of being ensnared within one of Leigh's visions. It was too detaining, too intimate. "Just tell me what you've seen."

"I've seen numerous possibilities of your predicament." she whispered, her voice slightly hoarse. "If you grow impatient and begin to kill every Confessor in Anatheema then King Luther will flee. Capturing his daughter in order to force her into giving up her father's location will result in your anticlimax each and every time. Her resolve is strong and indissoluble. She will either murder you or aid in your demise. If you are to simply kill her as a means to lure her father then you will succeed."

Darken Rahl's lips began to curl into a slow smile at this.

"However, it is a miniature gain compared to your losses." Leigh continued. "He will be the death of you. A male Confessor's magic is mostly Subtractive and his anger will fuel him into a state of darkness that shall destroy all in its path. The amount of bloodshed he will cause in a month to reach D'Hara—to reach you— will be more than what you've caused in your entire lifetime."

"Then what am I to do?"

"In all honesty I would suggest you abandon this quest. There are several fine, subservient young women who would make lovelier compliments to the throne of D'Hara." Leigh replied. Then she added, "But I'm familiar with your reasoning. As a secondary suggestion I say sway the young Confessor into your good graces. She maybe powerful but she's still a woman. Even the wickedest of us think with our hearts. And you, you are quite capable of making any maiden swoon."

"What would that do for my cause?"

"It will make her rethink her decision about rejecting your nuptials. Perhaps she might come to think of D'Hara as a home rather than an imprisonment. Find some solitude here; after all she is a halfblooded D'Haran." Then Leigh inserted, "And even if she still despises it here it might make her hesitate in killing you—even if for a second. When she does… you can kill her and raise your child."

**A/N:**

_Second chapter up!_ Woot woot! I know it's somewhat short but I don't plan on this being a freaking monologue . Besides the prelude and chapter 1 were long enough! In case you didn't catch it in the dialogue this is a fast-forward to 3 days later. I realize I didn't describe the oh-so-gorgeous (I'm envisioning Craig Parker as I say this) Darken Rahl but I'll do it soon.

For the book series fans: don't worry. I might weasel the original description in there somehow ;). As per his habits… well I'm still debating on whether I should go with the book's or the show's. Although in the show he only had one and he only did it like thrice. (Maybe it was a coincidence?) Perhaps I'll do a combo of them. (Yes, I realize I did one from the books in this chapter :P!)

CLARIFICATION- Leigh is one of those 'numerous sorcerers at Darken Rahl's disposal'. Her character is a work in progress and if my other stories are anything to go by she'll be undeniably intertwined in this story. I replaced Denna w/ Mercy. Deal w/ it XD.


	4. Chapter 3: Dark Revelations

_ "__I can't." Katrina cried._

_ "__You can." Her mother, Zael, insisted. "You've done it before, you will do it again. Just touch her—even if for a moment."_

_ Katrina's tear-filled gaze fell on her little sister kneeled down in front of her. Her head was bowed so she couldn't see the look she wore. What must she think of her elder sister? Did she think her a monster? Older sisters were meant to care for their younger siblings not hurt them._

_ "__I won't do it mother." _

_ Katrina tried to turn away but Zael held her in place by burying a hand in her hair. She tugged back hard. "Do you know what a Mord-Sith prides herself in?" she hissed. _

_ "__No," Katrina answered._

_ "__It's our ability to inflict pain so great that our victims have no other choice but to submit to our every whim."_

_ "__That's torture."_

_ "__I'm glad you've accurately grasped what I'm telling you."_

_ Katrina's eyes went wide as she fully understood the situation. "I won't do that to Peyton! It's wrong! She's just a child—"_

_ "__Mord-Sith are broken at as young as five." Zael countered. "And I never told you it was right. It simply is."_

_ Zael spun Katrina around, her hard eyes boring into her daughter's. "I understand you want to protect Peyton—I would love nothing more than to not subject my children to this— but the world is a cruel place. To deal with cruelty you must be able to cope with it and manipulate it yourself. The world's cruelest weapon is pain. If you can survive it then you can survive anything."_

_ "__But—"_

_ "__There are no exemptions Katrina." Zael cut her off. "If you really want to protect her you'll do this."_

_ Katrina's features revealed she was unconvinced._

_ "__You were born with a gift—one so powerful only I am able to endure your touch. If Peyton can tolerate it as well then nothing else will compare. Her allegiances will have already been established and no one will be able to take her from us. If you don't then she will be vulnerable because Mord-Sith aren't born. They're made and in the most brutal of ways."_

_ Katrina took a moment to absorb her mother's word and the tears she held back came spilling down. Slowly, she nodded her acquiescence. "Only because I love her…" she whispered._

_ "__The ones we love are those capable of inflicting the most excruciating pain."_

Katrina jolted from her sleep and upright into sitting position. She let out a relieved sigh when she came to the realization that it was a dream. It was a flashback but still a dream. Her hand wiped away at the sweat that accumulated on her forehead in her state of rest.

"Katrina?" Peyton sat up as well. She did a quick visual sweep of their campsite before turning her attention back to her sister. "What's the matter?"

"It was just a terrible dream."

Satisfied with that response, some of the rigidity left Peyton's body.

"It's dusk." She commented. "If we're to make it to the Westlands in record time then we might as well get going now."

Katrina bobbed her head in response, too emotional to speak. Oddly, her memories caused her more discomfort than anything did. But she accepted her past experiences as a part of her. They made her who she was. Those experiences shaped Peyton too.

By the time the sun began peeking over the clouds, they'd gathered their things and were readying their horses. Katrina tucked her hair neatly into the hood of her dress. The white one was hidden away despite now being clean. It didn't have a hood to conceal her identity as a Confessor like her green one did so she didn't wear it. They needed to draw as little attention as possible.

Peyton on the other hand refused to take off her battle suit. That in its own was bound to attract attention. A Mord-Sith's red leather was a warning to all that she was at war and would strike down anyone who stood in her path. It was a fine choice for hiding the blood of their victims. With that in mind, Katrina wished dearly she'd settle for her brown leathers instead but Peyton hardly broke from tradition.

In the rare moments that she did, it was for Katrina's benefit. In a way, she thought Peyton's sense of preservation was warped. She might not be bowing down to Darken Rahl but she was exclusively dedicated to Katrina's wellbeing. _Mother did this,_ she told herself again. She couldn't blame her little sister for something that had been out of their control.

Neither of them had a choice when it came to their 'training'. Especially not Peyton. She couldn't reject what their mother wanted of her—to become Katrina's ultimate protector. Zael knew that she wouldn't be there to protect her children forever and she always had doubts as to whether the militaries of Anatheema would remain loyal for all time so she made sure they could defend themselves. Although, it seemed Peyton was more of Katrina's bodyguard than the reverse.

Her ways were harsh and unrelenting but in the end it was all for the better. Grudgingly, Katrina could admit this. In view of all they'd been through so far, if they hadn't experienced agony before they wouldn't have survived any of it. They would've crumbled under their hardships. But Zael's training steeled them.

Shaking away her digressive thought Katrina deeply inhaled the fresh morning as she mounted her steed. Beside her Peyton was just placing her foot into her horse's stirrup. When she was completely astride, she jerked the reins, making the large animal trot ahead. Katrina followed suit.

The twilight hour was radiant, bursting in bright shades of light in the slowly darkening blue sky as they reached a small village. They'd traveled a considerable distance since the morning, only stopping for lunch. Mutually, it was decided it wouldn't hurt to spend the night. It was better than sleeping on the hard ground with cold winds biting at them, never fully sleeping because of their paranoia. That being settled, they stopped for a little while so Peyton could change.

"Here's the key." She said as she pressed it into Katrina's hand. "I'm going to go foraging and will be back later, all right?"

"No later than midnight for my heart's sake?"

"Okay," Peyton promised as she pressed a kiss to her sister's temple.

Then she was gone, leaving Katrina to settle into their temporary sleeping quarters. She began to run through the usual safety measures. All exits were secure and she made sure there were at least two routes to use in case they needed to make a quick escape. Although it was tedious, cautiousness and forethought had gotten them this far.

The sisters knew better than to fall for pretenses. The village seemed safe enough but one never knew where D'Haran quads laid in wait. They went through that quite a few times to know Darken Rahl's spies and military were taking the Midlands by storm. It was a scary thought really. Even this far from D'Hara Darken Rahl's influence was boundless.

Finishing her task Katrina stretched out on the bed, pulling the duvet snuggly under her chin. She relished in the delightful feel of a warm bed. These were the few things she had the liberty of pandering in since Darken Rahl started his manhunt. She would savor every moment of this.

The moment Katrina's eyes shut dark images plagued her mind. . .

**_ She was running wildly through a wooded area. Her hair was wild in the wind that howled and lashed at her. But she couldn't stop. It didn't matter that she was about to collapse from exhaustion or that she didn't have any knowledge as to where she was going. She needed to keep moving._**

**_ This was how it always was when she ran. Her physical limits didn't matter. Details didn't matter. Only instinct did. Instinct was survival. Survival was crucial. Those were the only facts that existed to her._**

**_ Katrina's legs suddenly gave out beneath her and she tumbled to the ground unceremoniously. She didn't let that stop her. No, she needed to keep going. She had to! Using her hands as leverage, she pushed herself up._**

**_ Then she was gliding through the woods again. Perhaps not as gracefully as before on her now wobbly legs but she was dashing forward nonetheless. Her breaths came sawing through her lungs as she continued. What she was running from she didn't dare turn back to find out. In her heart of hearts, she knew it was something fearsome._**

**_ A few more steps and her limbs couldn't take it anymore. She stumbled awkwardly until she was horizontal on the ground. Dried leaves and twigs jabbed at her cheeks. She struggled to bring her depleted body into sitting position. Her exposed hands swiped at her dirtied face._**

**_ Those cerulean colored eyes of hers took in nothing but trees. Common and numerous, surrounding her as if trying to keep her prisoner. They swayed back and forth in the blustery weather in a majestic dance. Had terror not been imposing on her, she might have found it enchanting. As it were, she could barely breathe because of how hard the wind blew._**

**_ Gasping, she brushed the hair obscuring her vision behind her ears. It was all she could manage in her physical state of weakness. That and wait. Wait for whatever ghastly creature chasing her to come for her. Then she felt it..._**

**_ An odd sensation pulled at her very being. It was undeniable, intrusive, and intense. She tried to fight it but the effort seemed in vain. As the seconds ticked by the feeling grew stronger. Katrina whipped her head around at the same time a man materialized from green flames._**

**_ The winds finally had mercy and ceased. But the fact it stopped the instant this strange man appeared was unnerving. Katrina reached for the daggers hidden in her boots. Her heart fell when she didn't find either of them. She tried to slow her pounding heart as he drew nearer._**

**_ The man was great in height and slender in physique. His robes were lavish and a rich red that pooled around his feet as he took measured steps toward her. But what unsettled Katrina further were his eyes. They were a vivid blue that gave nothing of the man himself away but seemed to scavenge her very soul for every ounce of ferocity, fault, and fear._**

**_ He stopped inches away from Katrina, towering her. She found herself inclining her head with a set expression despite her internal turmoil. A callous smirk adorned the man's lips as he took half of a step forward. Katrina didn't cower. Her tenacity wouldn't let her._**

**_ "_****_Hello sweetheart." He drawled. He had an unusual way of drawing out his 'R's. "I've waited so long for this moment."_**

**_ "_****_Darken Rahl," she mouthed in recognition, unable to find her voice._**

**_ "_****_Clever girl," he smiled._**

**_ Katrina could do nothing in response. She was utterly shell-shocked. The very man she was fleeing from was standing in front of her and he was openly appraising her with his eyes!_**

**_ "_****_Now what would be the odds of us finally having this little heart-to-heart?"_**

**_ "_****_What black magic is this?" she spat. "What, did you get tired of sending your men to actually capture me and decided to kill me in my sleep?"_**

**_ "_****_Of course not. Although that would be easier." He allowed. "But then I've never been known for making my agonies 'easy'."_**

**_ "_****_So this is about making me suffer?"_**

**_ "_****_Do you truly think that low of me?"_**

**_ Katrina's hard glare answered him._**

**_ He chuckled and came even closer._**

**_ "_****_It's not that simple sweetheart." Darken Rahl whispered as he leaned forward, his shoulder length ebony hair falling forward a bit. "This is about you and me."_**

**_ "_****_I'll never marry you!"_**

**_ "_****_In time. . ." his smile was one of arrogance._**

**_ Katrina was ready to supply a remark with that never-failing flip tongue of hers when his arm moved from his side. His hand came mere millimeters from her skin. She was tempted to lean into it to see the tyrant before her fall to his knees in anguish. But she was too stunned to make the slightest of movements. So instead, she held her breath._**

**_ That same hand moved down the length of her face. Always hovering above her skin, never touching it. It was as though he thought she would disintegrate if he touched her. _****Ironic, ****_she thought. Because it would be him who shattered at her touch._**

**_ "_****_So beautiful," he murmured. "But obviously I wouldn't be going through all of this if you weren't."_**

**_ Katrina flinched away from the near contact, her skin crawling. It was one thing to have him considering her visually but his words, with him being so close, were disconcerting. She already felt violated by this encounter. She didn't need him whispering sweet nothings to her too._**

"Katrina."

**_ A look of pure annoyance was on Darken Rahl's face._**

"Katrina." the voice came more insistent this time.

**_ "_****_It seems our time's up for now." He drew his hand back._**

**_ "_****_For now?" Katrina narrowed her eyes at him._**

**_ "_****_If I could do this once. . ." Darken Rahl trailed off suggestively._**

"Katrina, wake up!"

**_ "_****_No," she breathed._**

**_ "_****_Clever, clever girl." the dark wizard repeated with a sinister chuckle._**

"Katrina!"

Katrina awoke to her sister jostling her shoulder. Dazed, she looked at Peyton. She had a sheath of arrows strapped to her back and apparently her game in her sack. There were a few stray straw-colored strands hanging loosely about her face.

"What is it?"

"You were mumbling and thrashing in your sleep." Peyton sat back on the opposite bed. "You looked troubled so I woke you."

"Thank you." Katrina said groggily as she settled back in her bed.

"You're welcome." Peyton replied as she disarmed herself. "Bad dream?"

"The worst."

"What was it about?"

Katrina tried to think back. What had she dreamt? Nothing bubbled to the surface. Perhaps she hadn't dreamed and was in one of those states where only blackness and terror existed. Yet something felt wrong about that conclusion.

"It's strange." Katrina frowned. "I don't remember."

"Perhaps it's better that you didn't."

"Perhaps," she muttered.

"Try to get some rest all right?"

Katrina's eyelids were already fluttering closed. "You too, okay?"

"Sure, sure."

**A/N:**

_The first Darken/Katrina meeting: __** DUN, DUN, DUN **__! It was supposed to be longer but my creative juices stopped flowing and… yeaaaahhh. Blame writer's block .! The next chapter won't start with a flashback—I hope. Idk. All I know is I plan on going more in depth about Katrina's upbringing/training and Luther's agreement with Darken Rahl. I mean I kind of laid it all out already (the key points) but I'll explain it further._


End file.
